


dramatic irony

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Being Idiots, DELANY!, F/M, Idiots in Love, and all their friends already know, it's kind of like an intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-31 08:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: Alex Delany is not drunk.





	1. setup

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% fictional, friends.

Alex Delany is not drunk.

The test kitchen crew are settled at their favorite bar in lower Manhattan, laughing and chattering, and Delany’s had plenty, but booze is kind of his job. He holds his liquor like an absolute pro. He might be the soberest person at the table right now.

He’s not drunk. So there’s really no excuse for it.

Except he sees Brad keeping an empty spot safe at the end of the booth, and where he would normally roll his eyes and let it go, well, it’s Friday. It’s been a long week.

“Saving Claire’s seat again?” he asks, ignoring Molly’s elbow in his side. “Jeez, Brad. How whipped are you?”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Brad’s Jersey accent intensifies when he drinks. It’s a pretty good indicator of where he is, blood-alcohol-wise.

“You two dating yet? Because seriously, you may as well be.”

“The _hell?”_ Brad looks totally shocked, and Delany decides this is way too much fun to let go.

“Brad. Buddy. The two of you together? It’s like the Brad and Claire Show, man.” Delany grins, ignoring Brad’s glare. “You can’t tell me you haven’t realized it.”

“You’re fulla shit, Delany.”

“Brad, honey. He’s right.” Carla shakes her head. “You two look like a couple.”

“It’s kind of cute,” Molly adds, tilting her head. “Like you’re in grade school. And you keep pulling her pigtails.”

“It’s _ridiculous_,” Amiel cuts in.

“You’re all insane. This – no. You’re all outta your minds.” Brad’s starting to sound panicked.

“Brad.” Hunzi finally pipes up. “Hate to break it to you, but they’re right.”

Brad glares at them all and takes a long swig of his beer. “No way.”

Molly lets out an exasperated laugh. “Everyone can see it, Brad. You two are so obvious.”

Brad grumbles something incomprehensible that’s probably a denial, but Delany sees the table is on his side. “All right, Leone. I think it’s time to explain to you the facts of life.”

“Oh, would you –”

“Remember that popcorn seasoning? How many people were in the fucking kitchen that day? Like all of us? But what did you say?” Delany turns to Hunzi. “Refresh my memory, Hunzi.”

“I believe his exact words were, ‘Let’s go find Claire.’”

“Oh, really?” Delany feigns shock. “Weren’t there like a dozen other people in the kitchen?”

Hunzi nods. “There were.”

“But nope. You just _had_ to find Claire.”

“It’s not like that,” Brad insists, his hand gestures getting bigger. Alex grins to himself. Brad gets defensive when he knows someone’s right. “I just – I thought –”

“You thought what?”

Brad waves one hand dismissively, like he thinks that’s going to make his point for him. “I just thought she’d like it, that’s all.”

“And no one else would?”

“Okay, okay. Popcorn. Whatever.” Andy shrugs. “Who gives a shit. But can we please just talk about _all the fucking touching?” _

Delany almost chokes on his scotch. Apparently he’s not the only one who’s noticed.

“I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” Brad’s gone from befuddled, to defensive, to resentful. If Delany weren’t absolutely sure he was right before, he definitely is now.

“Really?” Andy sounds exasperated. Like maybe he’s sick of watching the test kitchen’s own personal soap opera running along without any plot progression. “Because I’m starting to wonder if you have some magical disease that kills you if you don’t touch her constantly. I can’t think of any other reason.”

“And it’s not just touching,” Amiel adds helpfully. “You two have absolutely no concept of personal space.”

Delany nods vigorously. “Holy _shit_, so true. You know you and Claire always stand way too close together, right?”

“That’s not – no.” Brad shakes his head. “That’s insane.”

“Let’s do a little demonstration,” Delany suggests brightly. “Mol? Here.” He pushes his drink across the table so it sits between him and Molly. “Let’s pretend this is a mixer, and this is just me and Molly, being ourselves.”

He and Molly sit calmly, not really moving. Brad blinks, clearly not sure where they’re going with this.

“Now it’s still a stand mixer, but we’re you and Claire instead.”

Delany and Molly both lean forward towards the glass until their faces are just inches apart, Molly smiling sweetly up at Delany, and Brad scowls. “Oh, come on. That’s just stupid.”

Carla sighs. “You seriously don’t understand, do you?”

“Understand what?”

“You and Claire are _always_ together, hon.”

“And not, like, normal together,” Molly adds. “Like, really, _really_ weirdly close to each other.”

Hunzi waves a hand. “Brad. You’re literally a foot taller than Claire. Do you know how Dan and I fix that when we frame shots?”

Brad tenses up, clearly suspicious, but finally shrugs. “No.”

“We _don’t have to._” Hunzi enunciates with perfect clarity. “You know why? Because you just fucking _drape_ yourself over the side of her station. Your faces are inches apart.”

“Yeah.” Andy nods. “Brad, we’re friends, but if you did that to me I’d be contacting HR. And don’t get me started on that fucking Starburst.”

“What?”

“You gave her the other half of your Starburst, remember?” Andy leans forward. “Brad. _No one_ just shares a single Starburst. It’s not normal.”

“We were just –”

“There was an _entire fucking bowl of them!"_

Hunzi shrugs. “Can’t argue with him there, Brad. He’s right.”

“Okay, stop. Stop. I need to throw in my two cents here.” Carla leans in, resting her elbows on the table. “Brad, honey. You don’t like cake_. _But somehow, _every_ time our girl makes cake, you’re right there, ready to taste it.”

“Well –”

“Well, what?” She props her chin in her hand expectantly. “Why is hers so special?”

Brad squirms in his seat, clearly searching for whatever answer he can give that’ll deflect her attention. But Carla takes no shit from anyone. He knows that. “I don’t know.”

“Are you kidding me?” Carla rolls her eyes. “Even Cosmo knows he can’t give me that answer.” He glares at her. “Don’t give me that attitude, young man. It’s not _our_ fault you’re in denial.”

“I’m not denying anything,” Brad insists.

“Aren’t you?” She folds her arms. “Brad, you _light up_ when you’re around her. Every time.”

Everyone at the table nods in agreement. Except for Brad. Whose ears have gone scarlet by now. He’s staring at his beer like it’s going to save him.

Delany gets the distinct impression that Brad’s actually waiting for _Claire_ to walk in and save him, but something tells him to hold back on sharing that particular observation. Because if Brad’s grumpiness is anything to go by, they’ve hit a nerve so far.

“If you’re worried she doesn’t feel the same way, you really shouldn’t be,” Molly says gently.

“The hell are you on about?” Brad grumbles.

But there’s a tightness in his shoulders, his brows are drawn together, and Delany realizes – that’s it, isn’t it?

Brad’s not in the dark about his own feelings. It’s _Claire’s_ he doesn’t seem to understand.

Molly glances up at Delany, smiling. She gets it, too. “Brad, she’s _crazy_ about you.”

Brad scowls half-heartedly, but Carla cuts in. “Oh, honey, she really is. That girl beams at you.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” Brad’s voice is a shade higher-pitched than usual as he very pointedly looks at anything except the people around him, and Delany feels a slight pang of guilt. Poor guy. Poor idiot, pining away every day (for a girl who so obviously feels the same way).

But come _on_. There has to be a point at which interference is required, right?

Delany brightens as he sees the door open and Claire Saffitz herself comes bustling in, tucking her hair behind her ears.

This is going to be fun.


	2. payoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience! took a quick break to write the other fic. now: back to this one.

Claire makes a beeline for their table, smiling as she reaches them. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

She slides into the space next to Brad without another word. Almost as though this is a completely normal thing.

Almost like she knew that seat would be there before she walked in.

“Really nice of Brad to save you a seat,” Delany mentions, grinning at the death glare Brad’s not-so-subtly shooting him.

“It is, isn’t it?” Claire beams up at Brad. “Thank you.”

He shuffles his feet, staring awkwardly at his beer bottle, and mutters “You’re welcome.” Claire flicks him a sidelong glance, like she’s not sure what’s wrong, but she seems to decide it’s best to let it go.

Now that Claire’s joined them, the booth is kind of crowded, and for a moment, Brad stretches his arm out, like he’s about to rest it atop the seat behind Claire. But then he stops. Flinches. Sees everyone else watching him.

He pulls his arm back, tucking himself uncomfortably into as little space as possible, and Delany’s laughing into his scotch at this point.

Oblivious to the rest of the table’s general entertainment, Claire sits back, shedding her jacket. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not much,” Delany shrugs. “We just sat here and talked about how great you are.”

Claire rolls her eyes as everyone else chuckles, but of course she doesn’t know why, does she? Meanwhile, Brad has progressed to actually trying to murder Delany with his eyes. It doesn’t seem to be working. Yet.

Conversation meanders a little – Amiel and Andy are arguing about profiteroles, while Claire tells them all about the out-of-tune barbershop quartet that started singing on her subway commute yesterday and refused to stop – but soon the waitress comes by, apologizing for how long Molly’s drink has taken as she takes it off her tray.

“Oh, let me get that for you,” Delany cuts in, taking the glass from the waitress. He hands it over to Molly, making sure his hand brushes hers, deliberately lingering longer than he needs to.

Molly’s eyes sparkle. She _gets it._

“Thanks,” she says warmly, her fingers trailing over his as she takes the glass. She leans into his side as she sets it on the table, smiling up at him brightly before going back to her conversation with Carla.

Claire shoots Delany an odd look but lets it go. He can barely bite back the grin, especially when he steals a glance at Brad, whose expression can only be described as ‘uncomfortable.’ Or maybe ‘itchy.’ It’s hard to say.

_Oh, so it’s weird when anyone else does it, huh?_

Alex feels Molly’s elbow digging into his side, but he sees the shit-eating grin on Andy’s face, and the sly grin Carla’s shooting him, even as she shakes her head in mock disapproval.

Maybe Brad just needs to see it from the other side.

* * *

Brad’s pretty sure he’s in hell.

He’s got Claire pressed against his side so she can lean in and hear everyone talking. This isn’t new for them – he normally doesn’t even think twice about it – but tonight, for the first time, it puts him on edge. Her petite frame is soft against him, and her hair brushes against his shoulder, and how the hell did he never realize just how easily, how readily she touches him before this?

Meanwhile, Delany and Molly have apparently decided to teach him a real fucking lesson, because they’re more or less snuggling, their heads bent over their drinks. At one point, Delany starts waving his hands to explain something, and Molly just grabs his hands out of thin air, moving them closer together as she corrects him, and Brad has to bite his tongue. _Oh, come on. That’s not – _

Finally, Molly takes a bite of a pretzel and hands Delany the other half with a soft smile, and Brad just can’t deal with it anymore.

“’Scuse me, guys. Gonna get up for just a sec.”

Claire stands to let him out, and he walks towards the bar. He doesn’t look back, but he doesn’t have to; he can _feel_ her eyes on him

He leans by the bar, content to wait for the bartender to make his way over. His head is swimming, because nothing ever _feels_ wrong with Claire, but the way it _looks – _

He’d used to think his thing for Claire was a secret. He used to think he had it locked down, that no one could tell among all the laughing and teasing and destruction of kitchen equipment just exactly how much of his manic, scattered energy was focused on making her smile.

But if everyone around him can see it, then it’s all wrong.

The bartender’s getting swamped by college girls, but Brad finds he doesn’t mind the delay. It’s a little bit of a relief. He needs the chance to get his balance back.

At least Claire wasn’t there to hear all them all piling on. He feels so _stupid_. He’s a bumbling oaf who’s been way too obvious mooning over the pretty girl, and now everyone’s laughing at him, while she’s blissfully unaware.

Brad takes a deep breath, bracing his hands on the edge of the bar. How did he let himself get so comfortable? How did his harmless little crush on the pretty girl across the kitchen turn into –

“Brad?”

He feels a soft, gentle hand on his arm, and turns to see Claire. Of course.

“Brad?” She leans closer to make sure he can hear her in the noise of the bar. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

Her soft concern actually hurts him, a physical, stabbing pain somewhere between his ribs. Because he has to stop doing this with her, but the thought of pulling away, putting up some kind of distance between them just so that it’s clear he’s not trying to pull some kind of move, makes everything go grey.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He shrugs it off. “Just a long day, that’s all.”

“You sure?”

_Oh, for crying out loud_. “I’m _fine_, Claire.”

She hesitates, regarding him with skeptical eyes, and he holds his breath, but she seems to accept that he doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering him. “Okay.”

He waves to the bartender, who finally comes to hand him another beer, and he turns to Claire. “You want anything?”

“Water, please.” She’s pacing herself. She must not have eaten dinner yet.

The bartender fills a glass and hands it over, and Brad turns to return to the booth, but Claire catches his arm, pulling him over towards one of the hightop tables. “Look, before we go back –”

He hopes his face isn’t showing the way he’s feeling. “What?”

She leans in, her eyes sparkling. “Is there something going on between Molly and Delany?”

His heart drops in his chest. “Why do you say that?”

“Are you kidding? They’re all over each other.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t realize – but it’s kind of obvious, you know? Did they say anything?”

“Claire –” He falters, looking down at her soft, curious dark eyes.

“What?”

Brad steals a glance back at the table. It looks like most everyone has lost interest in the two of them, but Molly’s looking. And when she meets his gaze, she beams at him, nodding in encouragement, waving a hand to urge him.

(_Brad, she’s _crazy_ about you._)

“Claire, they’re acting like us.”

“They’re what?” The question’s more reflexive than anything, and she blinks as she processes what he’s saying. “Molly and Delany?”

“Yeah.” He sighs heavily. “They’re doing what you and I do.”

She’s staring intently, like she’s trying to take in what he’s saying but she can’t quite wrap her mind around it. “I don’t understand. What – what do you mean? What do ‘we’ do?”

“Come on, Claire.” He sighs. “You _know_.”

She pauses for a moment, glancing back at the table, and her eyes go wide. “Brad – no, Brad, we’re not –”

“They’re not wrong, Claire.”

* * *

Claire wasn’t ready for this. This was just supposed to be drinks with friends, maybe see if anyone else wants to go get food later, and swapping ridiculous stories from their first crappy restaurant jobs.

Instead, she’s staring at Brad, who’s trying to explain that every chef at Bon Appétit thinks that _this_ is what they’re like, this soft, clingy pair that looks so painfully non-platonic that it makes her blush.

“Is this why you’re so distracted?” she demands, and she doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory, she really doesn’t, but she really, desperately needs him to say it’s all nothing and it’ll be gone after this weekend and they’re be able to smile at each other again. “Did they say something?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, more rueful than anything. “Before you got here. They were all just givin’ me shit about it.”

She has to push all that aside for a moment, because if she doesn’t, she’s going to start wondering exactly who said exactly what, like she can reverse-engineer this conversation she didn’t see and figure out how Brad went from _Brad_ to this bashful, uneasy version of himself.

“Why are you – why –” what exactly is she trying to ask? “Brad, why is this bothering you? We’re just who we are. Just because it someone else thinks it looks like – like something it’s not –”

“But it _is_, Claire!” He blurts it out like she used to blurt out answers in math class, but all she can think about is how fifth-grade Claire wasn’t standing in the middle of a bar in lower Manhattan and she certainly never looked this desperate or terrified of the results of her long division skills and _what the actual hell did he just say?_

“Brad?”

“Claire.” He scrubs his hands over his face, looking like he can’t believe he’s doing this. “Fuck it, Claire. It’s exactly how it looks. It is for me. And – and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – I should have –”

Her heart is hammering in her chest. Her fingertips are buzzing. Her cheeks are hot.

“You mean it?”

Brad goes very still, more than she thinks she’s ever seen him, like he’s martialed up all his scattered attention to focus on answering her question, and before he even gets the words out, it’s overwhelming.

“You’re pretty much my favorite person in the world.” He offers her a wry smile, and her heart does a sudden stumble in her chest. “I didn’t realize I was being so frickin’ obvious, but why do you think I keep hangin’ around you like it’s my job?”

“You like me?” She can’t stop smiling, because he’s looking at her like she’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen, and Brad’s grin is like pure sunlight.

“I’m crazy about you, Claire. Ain’t gonna change anytime soon.”

Claire reaches across the table, twining her fingers through his. “Good.”

She wants to kiss him. She desperately wants to kiss him, wants to see just what they are now that they’re _this_, whatever this is. She’s spent so long telling herself it’s nothing, telling herself she’s just imagining it, there’s nothing there, and suddenly hearing him _say_ it, so plainly, has her head spinning.

But she’s still an adult, they’re in the middle of a bar, and she’s fairly sure that if Alex Delany is a witness to their first kiss, she will physically combust from embarrassment.

Brad strokes his thumb over the back of her hand and okay, maybe she’ll just physically combust from this.

He leans closer, and for a moment she wonders _Is he_ -

“So what do we do about those bozos?”

_Oh._

She follows his gaze back at the table, where their friends are stealing sidelong glances, but at least trying to do it subtly. So that’s something.

As tempting as it is to make a totally-transparent excuse and drag Brad out with her, Claire’s not ready to let Delany win.

“Come on.” She nods at the table. “We’re gonna go right back there.”

“Doncha think they’re gonna – y’know?” He shrugs. “Know?”

She tugs his hand. “They can deal with it.”

* * *

Delany couldn’t hear what Claire and Brad were saying way over by the bar, but he’s pretty fucking good at reading body language, and even if he weren’t, the soft, shy smile Claire’s giving Brad, and the giant grin on Brad’s face, are pretty good indicators that these two idiots have finally figured it out.

When Brad and Claire eventually come back to the table, though, Brad stands aside and lets Claire slide into the booth first, taking the end himself. And – not that Delany’s _trying_ to notice – but it really does look like they’re sitting closer together. Brad drapes his arm on the seat behind Claire without hesitation.

A quick glance around the table shows him what he suspected: it’s just as obvious as everyone else.

Claire shoots him a defiant look, and he can’t help grinning. _There_ she is. There’s the real fury of Little Miss Half-Sour, all 5’4” of her, silently daring him to comment on the fact that she’s pressed up against Brad’s side and his fingers are brushing her shoulder.

But isn’t this what everyone was waiting for, anyway?

So Alex just tosses back the rest of his drink and grins. “So Claire, any fun weird shit you’re making soon? I’m gonna vote for Circus Peanuts if no one else does.”

Claire groans, Molly laughs, Amiel and Andy are completely on board with it, and Brad can’t stop grinning as Claire leans her head against his shoulder.

It’s completely, totally normal.

And Delany can’t say for certain, but he’s about eighty percent sure the two of them are holding hands under the table.

* * *

Soon afterwards, Carla glances at her phone. “Sorry to break up the party, kids, but I have to get going.”

The table breaks apart, everyone ready to head their separate ways, and Brad claps Amiel and Andy on the back amiably. Carla gives Claire a warm hug and whispers something into her ear that makes Claire blush fiercely, biting her lip as she steals a glance back at Brad.

* * *

Molly walks out into the chilly night air beside Delany, still giggling over the whole thing. “I can’t believe it. You’re awful, you know that?”

“Oh, come on! You were just as much –”

“Oh my _God!_” Molly gasps a little too loudly, grabbing his arm. “_Look!_”

He follows her pointing to see Brad and Claire. They’re pressed against the brick wall around the corner, half-hidden in the shadows, and they’re kissing.

It’s soft and tentative and so very obviously a first kiss, and as Molly clutches his arm murmuring _aww_, Alex just grins, nodding.

_It’s about fucking _time_, you two._

Brad and Claire finally walk away arm-in-arm, and Alex nudges Molly with his elbow.

“I’d say our work here is done, Mol.”


End file.
